charles taylor might be more fun to hang out with

*by Annika R, who captured our adventures last night

drinking liberally. sounds like a hopeful bastion of liberal sensibilities.

but no. instead a strange gathering for men one might expect to find at a comic book convention or at your local dungeons and dragons retreat.

there is nothing wrong with this. other than as a group possessing the social skills of a potato.

holy lord.

5 minutes after walking in, no one had talked to us as we stood in the middle of many tables surrounded by geeky looking men who wouldn't even make eye contact with us. all men. bloggers. at least 10 bloggers. some of whom had their laptops handy at the table, i'm sure blogging about the exciting times they were having. and somehow, stuck in the middle of the DL tables was one table of young men doing brackets for baseball.

dwight pelz was there, this kind of schmarmy bald dude who is the head of the dems in washington state. god help us. he was just as socially awkward as the rest of the people. for example, michelle asks him, "so, in the liberal land of milk and honey, what are the main issues facing washington politics". he looks at her, pauses, then averts his gaze to the tv screen above our heads and says "wow, only 12 seconds left", and then walks away. uhhhh.

michelle and i layed some female issue smackdowns, ie this dude, who runs the whole thing, telling us that planned parenthood was putting abortion clinics out of business. uhhh. have you been informed that 95% of what we do isn't abortion? and how he was writing an article that insurance companies wouldn't insure abortion clinics burnt in arson. and michelle was like "actually they just passed a law about that a couple weeks ago, and that's illegal. " "oh, i hadn't heard" "yup". and he those creepy gloves without the fingers that he removed to shake my hand.

talked to this guy viet, dwight pelz's communication guy, looked about 18. he claims all he does is spread nasty rumors about the gop. cool? he was the only person that sort of said hi to us after we chased him down. later on when we mentioned the generally chilly nature of the group he was like, "yeah, i didn't really want to be the one to say hi to you guys because that's not my thing, but i figured i would". uh.

so we had a beer and got the fuck out of there. wow.

I won! I won!

Ok, ok. So I didn't win the lottery but I did win a $20 gift certificate to my neighborhood grocery store. The Ballard Market celebrated their 20th birthday on Saturday. I stopped by (only 5 blocks away) for a cupcake (yum); signed up for the raffle, chatted a little and then bought a $1 hotdog benefiting the Boys and Girls Club. I love my grocery store - they have a great bulk section, plenty of organic yogurt, tons of beans and fresh vegetables. I've tried going to other places convinced that they were cheaper or better but for a single gal in Seattle - The Ballard Market is just right. (Plus it's open 24 hours a day so I can shop at midnight.)

Double Shot of Seattle

This weekend was a extra strong, double shot of Seattle - for two extremely different reasons. Friday, easily found myself trying two different wines at the top of the Space Needle (again - like I have said, I need to go free and cheap!) with my friends from work Annika and Crystal (and her friend). Columbia Crest was the featured winery which had a very expensive line plus many cheaper ones that are found at many grocery stores across the country. At dusk, from the top of the Space Needle, the city was broken up into two views - one side was bathed in sunshine and the other rain. I've been told that when it's sunny and raining at the same time that "The Devil's wife is crying."

Saturday I did one of the many things I said I wasn't going to do that was "so Seattle" (thus loosing my midwest identity and become more and more west coast - this isn't hard core resistance but more of a game) - I joined Costco. Why is this so Seattle? Costco was started in Seattle - the flagship store is in the suburb of Kirtland. They're a fantastic company that actually pays their employees (on all levels) greater than a living wage plus benefits. Everyone loves them for treating people so fairly. However, as a single person I have no use for 36 rolls of toilet paper, 6 bottle of Lysal, 6 giant size Comet cleanser, 15 dish sponges, and the 1,000 other things that come in massive bulk at Costco. I just don't have any storage and really, I didn't grow up in the Recession - I have many reasons to believe that when I need a new sponge the grocery store down the street will have 2 for $1.50.

In trying to get my tire replaced (which was originally brought by my brother's membership) they said I would have to have my own. It also turned out that they didn't carry my same type of tire and were willing to take all four tires and replace them all at a reduced cost. They assured me that the whole deal wouldn't cost me more than $100. (The customer service is excellent too). I purchased my $45 Costco membership and loitered in the store while waiting for my tires - overwhelmed by the massive bulk of everything. I sat in the furniture section for a while (nice outdoor sets) and evening found some things I could buy there - pens (yes, I would eventually use 15), gum (all 8 huge packets), Luna Bars, beer, water, fish... after consulting with my brother on the phone, I did manage to find a way to make this worthwhile but there is no way 36 rolls of toilet paper will end up in my small apartment anytime soon - I'm positive the kitties would add this to their Olympic adventures.

I zoomed home on my new tires, changed and headed out the door to meet another work friend for an evening with the Rat City Roller Girls. Imagine roller derbies from the 1950's, 60's and 70's - before WWF, when women (and men) dressed in costumes and rollerskated around a rink trying to keep "jammers" from scoring points. It was AWESOME! I mean it was two of my favorite things - wheels and costumes - put together. There were catfights with fists flying and some serious violations of the rules but for the most part, there was some incredible skill involved along with pretty great body protection including knee pads, helmets, wrist guards and mouth pieces. There were great team names: Sockit Wenches, Derby Liberation Front, Grave Danger and Throttle Rockets and individual names like Bonnie Collide, Hot Flash (a woman who actually derbied in the 1970's), Diva State, Sybil Unrest, Ida Slapter, etc. They had a uniformed costumes but then each individual added their own individual flair and character.

The teams play two-twenty minute halves with intermissions in between. It took me about 10 minutes to get the rules and the objectives (see the link for an explanation). I had a couple of favorite players and a team I ended up rooting for. These were Hipsters, punk rockers, thin gals, bigger gals, lesbian and straight girls, mothers and daughters. Many had great skill and some were fresh to the teams. By the end of the evening, I decided I was going to go to every game possible (only $15) and practice my own skating skills and maybe become a Derby Skater myself! It's honestly an ideal combination of things I enjoy (I'm not good at being very mean but I can be dramatic). It was a fantastic time! I'm sold!

And I can't go thru the weekend though with mentioning my wonderful hike thru Discovery Park on Sunday but also without mentioning that, like anywhere in the US, there was a completely senseless tragedy this weekend when a young man took the lives of 6 other young people for no apparent reason. This even occurred about 5 blocks from my office in Capital Hill, a great Seattle neighborhood. Of course, there are senseless tragedies all over the world - one need not search very far.

Finally getting to know you...coming home.

Tuesday night an after work meeting was canceled. I could have run home to take my car in to get a new tire (I pinched it on a curb and poof, it was flat) but instead I headed off to a thanyouwinereception at a local hotel who receives a lot of my company's business. I went with a colleague (diagnosed her car with needing new brakes and not a new timing belt.) Her friend met us there and so did many of our other colleagues. The food was fine and the wine was poured by a bartender who had broken a vertebrae in his neck from a "high dive into a shallow pool", luckily he wasn't in worse shape. Luckily, a friend told him about a hospital that would treat him on a sliding fee scale and set up a payment schedule because he was an actor and bartender and consequently without insurance.

Other colleagues from my office were there and it was great to finally get to know them better. One gal had been a lawyer in South America before coming to the US 7 years ago. She even plans to obtain her US law degree and practice here. Another woman was Native American and had just had her car rammed into by another woman who tried to give her $50 so she wouldn't call the police and get her in trouble for not having insurance or a legal license for that matter. Another had moved from Chicago 15 years ago and didn't miss the Midwest humidity at all. And seeing each other in the work room on Wednesday, one with a hangover, but a face, a smile and a story to the strangers I had been interacting with for so long.

And this week a flight home was confirmed landing myself in Cleveland for 1.5 days essentially before heading down to Cincinnati for the birthday of the World Famous PEANUTS (my nieces) who turn one in April. Trying to set up a few appointments to see a few friends throughout the Friday I'm going to be in town, I know that patience will have to prevail and I'll have to see everyone in the summer, when I come home around the Fourth of July, to the humidity of the great Midwest.

Space Needles, Wine, Inspiration and a big surprise.

We concluded our weeklong visit with our friend from Boston (whose considering moving out this way) with a wine tasting at the top of the Space Needle. Built for the 1962's World Fair, it dominates the sky line of any Seattle mug, poster or T-Shirt. Cougar Crest was the presenting Washington wine that night as the view of the city was spectacular! We could see the arteries flowing into the city, the Sound, and well known land marks. It would have made a fantastic view if we had been there at dusk - we would have caught a glimpse of the Cascades, Olympics and Mt. Rainier. We sent off our friend, pretty sure that the week of movies, museums, and bus adventures would convince him to head west.

Saturday found myself inline for a lecture featuring Senator Maria Cantwell. Stomping with her was Senator Barack Obama. I felt like I was going to a protest. I went to the grocery store before hand to grab some snacks knowing we had a long wait a head of us. Picking up Annika, we zoomed to Garfield High School in the Central District Neighborhood (where our offices are). It was one of the first school to be desegregated in the late 1960's. Annika's mother was in the first group shipped to the school - absolutely loving the experience (disliking the high school she went to). The line snaked around the school and down the street - being as early as we were we got a good spot on the bleachers - there like many people - to hear the Illinois Senator speak more than our very own Senator. It was the most mixed group of people I had seen in Seattle to date. We found ourselves in a cluster of older African American women who booed the anti-war protesters who started showing when Senator Cantwell started to speak, demanding respect for our speaker. (Cantwell voted in favor of the war - I mean all but two Senators did.) When Senator Obama got up to speak the crowd went wild. He was dynamic, passionate but not swarmy like most politicians are. He told us, like Gloria did, we have to personally be responsible. He told us that politics can be discouraging but if the politicians make a change that we, the people demand, we have to change with it - we have to uphold our end of the bargain. He told us not be cynical because of the way things are going. He quoted Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. by agreeing that an injustice anywhere was a threat to justice everywhere - and we needed to be responsible for not only ourselves but our community and those whom the injustices are inflicted upon. He's young and dynamic. I left with a sense of hope. Annika left with a sense of responsibility and cleaned up the garbage around her apartment. She was the change agent.

The surprise came in the form of a new mattress that I finally bought for myself. Kitty friends were the first to sleep on it stretching out as if I had finally bought it for them, that their puncturing my air mattresses was really a tactic to get to buy a bed. Now I have a bed - indoor camping is done - I'm starting to feel a sense of home.

Film, Friends and French

Tonight Pygmy and I went to see the second free film in a group of coupons that arrived in the mail last week. My friend Jen had connected us with the sister marketing firm of her company in Seattle. After a month of not receiving a single free pass, I got four in a row and it’s been fun! Pygmy and I meet up after work, grabbing granola bars, apples or pop corn to munch before the 7 p.m. show. (We’ve seen Failure to Launch and Tsotsi) It’s been a great time for us to catch up, wonderful… except for the part where Seattleites LOVE free stuff so they come out early in great numbers so when we get there an hour before hand we’re 159th in line and tonight we were outside, wound around the theater when the sky opened up and rained heavily on us for 10 minutes before bidding us a good evening.

The Cleveland International Film Festival starts tomorrow. Over the weekend, I was having one of those moments where I felt so horribly homesick. Because, being on the Short Film Selection Committee was the greatest volunteer gig (except Peace Corps if that counts) I’ve ever been privy to. I wasn’t in charge of anything; I wasn’t an officer or held any leadership role. My job was to pick up a box of movies, watch them ALL the way thru, give them a score of 1 – 3, write comments (I can be wordy), turn in the finished box and get a new one. It occupied my Monday nights in October, November and December. It was fantastic! I was somewhat qualified. I could argue movies! And for all of this work of watching a hundred usually-really-bad-but-every-so-often-a-gem films, I receive two (almost) all access passes to watch as many films as I wanted during the festival (last year I squeezed in 29 films). I enjoyed this honor for three years. And this year is the festivals 30th birthday. 30 is a great year – but I’m really glad to have been a part of 27, 28, and 29. Happy Birthday! Someone buy Bill, Tammy, Patrick or Jen a martini for me.

I can easily claim that I speak French fluently. (I probably could only write it to save my life, but those situations don’t come up so much anymore). Yesterday I was helping a colleague who was being interviewed by another organization for a fellowship in French speaking Africa. Sitting at one of the tables in our staff kitchen (which looks out onto Mount Rainier), I asked her questions in West African French. We chatted quietly for about 40 minutes unintentionally impressing everyone who swept thru the kitchen during that time.

Yesterday at the library, I picked up Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris, which has many amusing essays, including those from his years of living in France. A friend told me it wasn’t as good as Naked plus I had heard David read from it on NPR so between his voice and the poor recommendation, I didn’t pick it up - until yesterday. I laughed on the bus on my way to work, to the film and then home after it. I came to realize that my friend probably didn’t like it because he didn’t speak French, or any language for that matter and didn’t get how absurd it was to arrange a meeting with city officials when you sound like a 5 year old. (I can’t, at this time, even go into all the times I’ve said the wrong thing, stupid things, or just made it up – but I may one day). But let me just quote the part where David Sedaris is taking a French class, in Paris, and they’re trying to describe “Excuse me, but what is an Easter” to a Muslim woman:
The teacher called upon the rest of us to explain.
The Poles lead the charge to the best of their ability. “It is,” said one “a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus and… oh, shit.” She faltered and her fellow country man came to her aid.
“He call his self Jesus and then he be die one day on two… morsels of …lumber.”
The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.
“He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father.”
“He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he back here to say hello to the peoples.”
“He nice, the Jesus.”
“He make the good things, and one the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today.”
Part of the problem had to do with vocabulary. Simple nouns such as cross and resurrection were beyond our grasp, let alone such complicated reflexive phrases as “to give of yourself your only begotten son.” Faced with the challenge of explaining the cornerstone of Christianity, we did what any self-respecting group of people might do. We talked about food instead.

Join me in the Village of Soy Decaf Lattes

Seattle is well-known as the home of Starbucks. The headquarters rests just off of Route 99 (also known as the Alaskan Viaduct) in the southern part of the city. It was started in Seattle and spread, rather slowly at first, to the point it is today. The two founders started out at Peet's Coffee shop and learned everything from this legendary roastmaster. The rest is history.

When in Seattle, there are many, many Starbucks. Seattle has this thing for caffeine. It's a part of the culture, the local vibe. I was drawn partly to Seattle over the years by the allure of sitting in a coffee shop, reading a book, writing a letter, typing a blog, having a chat, that who community sense. (Call me a romantic - but not too romantic because I am well aware of what this coffee addiction has done to other communities worldwide.) However, Starbucks is not alone - there are other kings and queens of coffee in this small-fishing-village-full-with-a-history-of-gold-prospecting-capitalists-and-whores like Tully's and Seattles Best. Not to mention the HUNDREDS of smaller coffee shops like Verite/Cupcake Royale and Cafe Ladro where they offer unique atmospheres and free wi-fi or cupcakes (yum). There are even a hundred more free standing espresso stands in the parking lot of the post office, plant nurseries, taco restaurant, gas station, everywhere. And somehow they mostly manage to stay in business.

The beautiful thing about all of these coffee shops is that they are always selling local artists' works on their walls. Kelly, who works in the same office as myself has sold 20 paintings just since January because they've been hanging in coffee shops or restaurants - which is another very independent group. There are more mom-and-pop restaurants, music stores, yarn shops, boutique clothing stores, nitch shops, salons, and art boutiques than in any other city I've seen. (Part of this has to do with the fact that the county has an pretty aggressive growth management plan and there just isn't room for big box stores). All of these independent shops sell artists works. It's pretty incredible. It's a very positive place to be - especially if you like your soy decaf latte or if, like me, you've become a fan of the simple Americano.

Snowing in Ballard, Remembering Pool, and the Museum of Glass

Friday was the end of a long week at work (believe it or not, Michelle does have a bad day once in a while). My friend Christine came bustling into my office and seeing the distressed look on my face suggested a four block walk to the post office in the cool Friday sun. We vented and on our way back she picked up my favorite candy at the store, Easter Eggs that are like Whoppers... and I took them back to my office, happily chomping on them, finishing up the week. I snook out a little early and turning down 15th towards Ballard, it started snowing! It was snowing! Snowing! You know, I love the snow.

Saturday evening I found myself out with a new friend, showing him around Capital Hill (I couldn't believe I was acting as tour guide! But we honestly are both new to Seattle and I have the advantage of having friends in the city.) We went out to the Garage Bar, it gathered a great crowd. One guy was teaching another how to play pool at the table behind us. A young couple grabbed the table across from us - clearly enchanged with each other. Catercorner there were a group of bikers who were laughing it up (though I suggested a shot that helped one of the guys win a game).

After the first game, I was perplexed. My friend said he wasn't any good at pool and I thought I was half-way decent and my game was horrible. I thought the "Johnsons" would disappointed in my skills considering I grew up playing the game. Then all of the sudden, it occurred to me that I wasn't putting my hand down on the table. I was trying to aim with a free thumb which was not allowing me to have good aim - any aim actually. It was like learning to ride a bike again - though I didn't win - it felt great to play a good game again.

Sunday found Pygmy, Peter (our Boston Peace Corp friend whose considering moving out here) and myself at Discovery Park, hiking around, surrounded by the Olympic mountains, bright sunshine and families came out to enjoy it all. We decided to run out to the Museum of Glass on a whim since we wouldn't have any other opportunity during the week. It was absolutely beautiful! We went to a lecture first and were thrilled by how they made globets (not to mention that all the glass arts were beautiful, muscular men who made glass!)

Karen LeMonte was being featured. Her expression was stunning - she made these Hellenic dressed sculptures with delicate flows of fabric on the floor. You felt you could grab it with your hands and gently touch it to your face but it was solid glass. I was in awe of these artists - their brilliance and talent - not to mention their age - they were all a part of my generation! So that's where all the leaders of my generation are - in the glass blowing studio! It was a perfect afternoon.

Gloria...

(It's Thursday night's Swinging Door (honky tonk) show on KEXP. Johnny Cash is covering a song by Nick Cave (of whom IÂ’ve always been a huge fan). The song is called Mercy Seed and it's about being electrocuted - no sorry - executed. I can hear Nick in the lyrics and Johnny all over the song.)

Last night I went to hear Gloria Steinem speak at Town Hall. I managed to get some ticket about two weeks ago. I went on the first day they were available - free at the University of Washington Bookstore, during lunch. Sold out. Another woman was at the counter trying to find another bookstore with extras. We each managed to secure four before they sold out at the end of the day. (We were going to be a crowd of 8 but when no one else was able to get the tickets, we were a modest four. Me and Heidi, Karin and her friend.) It was chilly, wind whipping between the tall downtown Seattle buildings.

I've heard Gloria before. I had coffee with her at Europa, a small coffee shop in Mentor, Ohio when organizing for the last election (no really, we ended up have a very one-on-one conversation in a group of about 35 organizers). I've heard nationally known poets like Maya Angelou, and civil rights leaders like Julian Bond; I've heard feminists such a Gloria, presidents of countries like Nelson Mondela, and many others. Sometimes you don't want to go because you feel it will predictable. You aren't really sure you're interested in listening. You're wondering where are the leaders of your generation. You're wondering where the voice is in your movement. You think you know what they're going to say next. And most of the time, you're completely wrong.

I was wrong with Gloria. I was slightly disappointed that I was going to miss Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins at Neumo's that night. She's one of my new favorites. But I had these coveted tickets. It was International Women's Day (at least there's one day). So I went and I was surprised. I was surprise because at 70 she still looks fantastic; surprise because she's not bitter. Sure, she's disappointed in the way things are going. But she wasn't bitter. She had such sound advice and such encouragement. She reminded us that change takes a long time. She warned to to be weary of the media who is constantly pitting women against women. Now there's a war between stay-at-home and working women. Question this. They are always trying to control us. They're trying to control our ability to reproduce because we have such power, women. She told this funny story about Reese Witherspoon. They were sitting together at a fundraising function and Reese said Gloria "You're the reason I made Legally Blonde, both of them." Gloria was astonished. Really? "Yes. You said a woman should be able to dress how she wants and achieve anything." She reminded us to be gentle on younger girls today and look at the messages we send and the role models we provide. She didn't bash men, or Republicans. She told us to get organized. She encouraged us to be the change agent. It was wonderful and uplifting.

And it was a nice surprise.

The Con Artist, Barking Dogs and Oscar.

Friday I found myself drinking a couple of cheap beers at the Comet Tavern with my friend Tom who moved here the same weekend and now works for The Stranger. We "gossiped" about Seattle; talked about differences in the Midwest, mainly hanging out as the guy next us finished off a pitcher of beer, eavesdropping the entire time. Getting close to the end of our evening, Tom met this guy leaving the bathroom (scary) who came back to the bar and proceeded to flatter, flaunt and finagle his way into our conversation; convincing us that he was involved with Paul Allen and really did worked with billionaires here in Seattle (there are plenty of them).

He talked about big money, raising big money, handling people with big money. He only owned three suits and tried never to wear them; he was recruited by "many people" in Seattle but only chose one client; he loved dive bars; he just ate at an expensive Italian restaurant down the street (where? Tom inquired as this was his neighborhood and he was looking for such a place). It took me a while to realize eveything he said was public knowledge and that he had as much access to billionaires as I did (besides who drinks Bud Light when you work for a billionaire). Tom had caught on much sooner than I and though fascinated with con artists, had decided it was time to leave. I followed him out and all we could talk about over the next hour (grabbing some famous Jai Thai on Capital Hill) was "What did he want? Money? No, he bought us beers Sex? Maybe but he wasn't aggressive? and Did You Catch That Lie?" It was amusing. People are strange.

Saturday evening found me out with some friends at the Tractor Tavern listening to this Cuban Salsa/Jazz band Picoso who were pretty good. They started off and some dancers immediately broke the line and filled that magical space in front of the stage. Unfortunately the band wanted people even closer and asked everyone to move forward to fill in the space - there went the dance floor. I looked around for an appropriate partner (meaning one who didn't come with his girlfriend) and found a guy out there trying. I thought I would give it a go. It was awful. He had two left feet, two left knees, two left hips. I couldn't grab the beat and stick with it to save my life because he kept crashing into to me. Two songs later, I thanked him and walked back to my crowd. One of my friends laughed, saying she thought I was going to get clothesed-lined the entire time. We left at 1:30 - me green with "salsa dancing partner" envy.

Oscar is a friend of all of us and we celebrated with a small gathering at Pygmy's place. Just as the hype said, it was all about these small films that tackled the tough. Jon Stewart hosted it and my favorite film, Brokeback Mountain, won some but were surprisingly upset by Crash, another fantastic film.

We had a feast of middle eastern food, including stuffed olives, wine, humus, laughter, friends, Listy, Pygmy and Annika and cheering for our favorites and loving them. I know my friend Jen was thrilled as Crash won the best film though Ang Lee took director. (I use to watch the Oscars growing up. I was going to become a filmmaker and make those thought provoking films; I was going to capture the pause, the space between the end of the film and the rolling of credits; the pause between the end of a play and the fall of curtain; that pause where the participant stops and thinks, responds, laugh, cry, declare social injustice, is moved for joy or happiness.) It was just fun to watch the Oscars and pretend that, you too, one day could be a movie star.

Here's a links of my fun filled, three hours of dancing at Rebar:
Carnival/Mardi Gras at Rebar

Music in the air...

I grew up with music constantly in my life. There was only one musician, a trumpet player, in our family which was abandoned upon entering too-cool high school. But the radio was always on, vinyl always spinning. My brothers and I would play pool with the radio on in the background, my father explaining the meaning behind each phrase of American Pie or talking about the greatness of Vietnam era songs or late Beatles, CCR, or Led Zeppelin. My younger brother and I arguing whose turn it was to have the Graceland tape that we listened to in the car. Granted it was my parents' music but it was always around.

Seattle has been a wonderful music buffet. I was given Siris Satellite radio just before heading west so that I would have company for those long stretches over South Dakota and Wyoming. A couple of stations become my favorites: one of the was the Outlaw Station which played every type of country music: indie, classic, modern, radical, all kinds and the other was Alt Nation (alternative - one I kept coming back to. It introduced to all of these musicians who captured my complete undivided (when there were no cows to look at) attention: Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Franz Ferdinand, The Killers (ok, I knew them), Deathcab for Cutie, Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins, and Yellowflag just to get started. It was a smorgasbord of sounds I loved.

I arrive in Seattle and there is KEXP - this incredible music station with listeners all around the world. It's on all the time for the kitty friends but it has become my own urban meph. Mondays is African music night, where my friend Annika balances water bottles on her head and dances around. Tuesday is world music and always features a local band. Thursdays is Twang. The mornings will make you late for your bus. There is the Alternative weekends which just reinforces what I listen to on Alt Nation (The DJ Madison is great). There are 75 wonderful Beachland Ballrooms-type venues where you can hear this great music for relatively cheap: The Tractor Tavern (in my neighborhood); Sunset Tavern (right down the street from The Tractor), Crocodile, ChopSuey, Neumos, Nectar Lounge, Sound Box just scratching the surface; not to mention the local record stores that have mini concerts and promotions which are free like Sonic Boom and Easy Street Music.

It's been a musical reawakening for me in a city, like Cleveland, that prides itself on its contribution to the movement of course there is Kirk Cobain and Nirvana and Alice in Chains, but also Jimmy Hendricks came from Seattle and now groups like Deathcab for Cutie. It's a reawakening - a musical "spring" - kind of lidaffodilsffadils that I saw in bloom for the first time today and the trees with yellow and pink flowers timidly seeking out the sun. It's going to be a great spring.

Cinderella stays…

I wasn’t sure if I was going to go to the Re-Bar Mardi Gras/Carnival party last night – I didn’t have anyone to go with (like that has ever stopped me) but I was slightly paralyzed by the “no one in Seattle ever dresses up for things like this”. I put on my head piece yesterday morning – the yellow and orange feathers dashed around, the jewels sparkling around my face. It made me smile. I knew I had to go. Dashing home after work, I cranked-up KEXP which was playing Samba music and got ready. There had been some miscommunication and one of my few Seattle friends didn’t have my cell phone number. Soon, Molly, who I had met out when Mike came to town, was planning on joining me out. It took me forever to find Re-Bar (too many one-way streets going the wrong direction) but then I found a close parking spot – stepped out in my orange pants and sparkly top knowing this was going to be a great evening.

Molly soon joined me (remember me – I’m a tall brunette. I’ll be wearing all orange – kind of like a traffic cone with a feather head piece) and we watched the samba group Vamola perform. It was very reminiscent of my old samba group back in Cleveland – the bateria (though twice the size in Seattle) sounded the similar, with the same rhythms, and songs. The dancers (sadly only 6 in number) were dancing beautifully to the music one with the giant feathers flowing.

We were dancing in the back of a crowd of general Mardi Gras revelers when Molly said, I have to go to the front. I have to dance to this song. (Having spent a lot of time in Brazil, she knew the music). But there was that imaginary line – you know that line people don’t cross – that line that separates the performers, bands, the source of the music and those enjoying it – I grabbed her hand and we burst thru bringing our new friend Fred with us. So others joined us with their beads and masks, their cowboy hats and grunge caps, their bright red dresses and all black. And we danced and danced and danced – for almost three hours. We danced with the bateria whose drums shook the building. We danced with the live band we had danced with last week. We sang songs in Portuguese. We danced with Fred and Sophia and drunk Hendricks. We danced with a cowboy. We tried to win the costume contest (foiled again, this time by a guy in a pink wig and a tight green top), though not the dance contest. The clock chimed midnight; I didn’t turn into a pumpkin and we danced some more.

Molly insisted we go out again as the morning closed in around us. This Cinderella wanted to take off her shoes but instead walked to the car with ‘dogs barkin’, her very tired head piece in hand, having had an absolutely fantastic evening.